1. Freshman Enthusiasm
We’ll start with the least offensive and most forgivable trait, FRESHMAN ENTHUSIASM. When the hordes of little freshman babies stop shitting their pants from anxiety and realize that they are free of parental tyranny in their pitiful hovels, also known as DORMS, they start shitting their pants with ECSTASY. Not the cool smiley-face pill kind, the natural surge of endorphins that fuel Freshman Year make-overs for months at a time. You will never stop thrift shopping. Or slutty-costume shopping. Same diffs.
|Omg super creative totez original omg|
Immediately upon grasping this shiny new concept of FREEDOM, freshmen plunge headfirst into FINDING ACCEPTANCE. This is not difficult as long as one is not burdened with self-awareness of any kind. College babies zip with incredible speed to any person thing or group that offers a glimmer of validation for whatever remnant of identity they have retained post-high school. If one has no identity, that is even better. Start fresh. Oh you weren’t sporty at St. Bonehead High? Well now your floor is filled with lady jocks so you FUCKING LOVE ROWING AND WILL WAKE UP AT 5:30AM TO CHURN THE LOCAL RIVER WITH A PADDLE YOU CAN BARELY LIFT. Oh you are socially incompetent? NO BIGZ NOW YOU ARE WATCHING FIGHT CLUB WITH FIFTY PEOPLE YOU DON’T KNOW AND THEY ARE NOW YOUR BESTIES.
I was certainly not immune to this flurry of identity-adjustment and fervor for people I barely knew. I ate lunch with twenty fuckheads I would never see again and lost mad weight because I was so focused on conversing normally that I only ate three bites of corndog per day. I was in abject terror of eating alone. Surely everyone would stare at me and think LOOOOOSER as they shoveled ten pounds of fruit loops into a salad bowl HAHA NO PARENTS.
|No... moms.... YEAH....|
I also joined as many fucking clubs as I could muster. CLUBS= FRIENDS?! I assumed as I noticed my adorable asian friends migrating to an all-asian charity group far beyond my reach. I foolishly pursued clubs that pertained to my actual interests, such as Atheism and Satirical Writing. No. Bad idea. Atheist Club was full of socially defunct, balding bitter nerds. For the ice-breaker, everyone named their favorite mythical creature, and one particularly suave mulleted gentleman sang out “THE PERFECT WOMAN!” Me and the only other girl in the room sighed deeply. (My answer was “Sasquatch, so we could be roommates and have a zany sitcom” which was pretty funny and shit but NO ONE LAUGHED CUZ THEY SUCK) The Satirical Newspaper club was definitely better but still upsetting. At one meeting an article idea was suggested describing the mentally challenged workers on campus from the point of someone who mistook them for Orcs from Lord of the Rings. My indignation was met with mild confusion until I barked MY BROTHER IS AUTISTIC YOU PIECES OF SHIT. Then it was all “oooooh okay.” NO. NO.
My group-finding was a fail, but many were successful in their scrapping of sincerity in favor of belonging. Everyone was in love except they were actually in hate. The best part was watching the illusionary walls crumble down as the first year swept by. I came to avidly hate so many people that I initially LOVED as I discovered they were pieces of shit and we had absolutely nothing in common, morally or otherwise. I’ve only retained one friend from my batch of freshmen buddies, and that I believe is the statistical average.
|IT'S FUCKING SCIENCE.|
I came to fully realize my intense hatred for overly-enthused freshmen when I was taking the Amtrak to visit my parent’s in cowsville last year, and stupidly forgot my headphones. Usually the train is quiet with the occasional wave of loud ladytalk. But on that special day there was a bushel of UCSD freshies chattering at the speed of caffeinated squirrels in the seats adjacent to my self-made cave. (I am not social on the train.) Their talk, their personalities, everything about them was 100% unendurable. I resorted to liveblogging their abysmal conversation topics on facebook in order to keep myself from giving them a long and bitter tongue-lashing. “How can some people like not even care about global warming?!” Oh good, you’ve taken Enviro Science 101. And what you’ve taken from it was an inflated sense of self-importance instead of I DON’T KNOW ACTUAL FACTS AND SCIENCE?! Please, harangue the tired woman behind you about the melting polar bears, I’m sure she will appreciate it during her DAILY THREE HOUR COMMUTE.
Another choice bit was “Do you think they should use all the money in the world to solve hunger or the environment?” Ah, our nation’s future leaders, always stickin’ to the most important issues. In what direction shall we toss the Big Bag o’ World Money? To the ice caps or STARVING PEOPLE EVERYWHERE? Come on guys we gotta decide before we start signin’ da checks. HOW MANY ENVELOPES YOU TINK WE NEED? WHAT IS ADDRESS FOR ICE CAPS AGAIN?
The best part by far was when an especially loquacious young woman wearing New Balances with skinny jeans tried to bond with another girl but fucked up her name, and Oddly Named girl was super pissed and had to conceal her rage for the sake of social niceties. AWESOME. Passive Aggression is the true theme of any dorm, not Disney Jungle or Degrassi. I forget what our theme was, but it was undoubtedly dumb to the point of insult and infantilizing.
Yes, freshman enthusiasm dies a cold hard death in everyone’s heart as they realize no, college is not that exciting. You swap out your annoying parents for annoying roommates, and you live in a space smaller than most North Korean detainment cells. Yes, you can eat as much as you want at the dining hall, but the food is so shitty you will cry tears of frustration trying to decide what is more appetizing, another grilled cheese or the worst “wet” burrito in history. You will live in a hive of dumbshits, and they are fake dumb not even real dumb which is so much worse. When I see freshmen creaming their pants with excitement nowadays, I smile a cruel cynical smile with full knowledge that they are all going to fuck each other and hate each other, (the order is not important) within like two weeks and that shiny look in their eyes will EXTINGUISH FOREVER.
2. Hotness Realization
Hotness Realization spreads like cholera in a Victorian boarding house in that first wave of college excitement, and is equally debilitating to those that perceive it and can do nothing to impede it’s TERRIBLE FLOW. God, it is the most trite fucking shit. Here is the scenario, my pets. Little Johnny Wonderbread was nerdy and awkward in high school. No shot at pussy ever. Boohoohoo wah wah wah. Maybe he should have washed his hair once in a while. Also goddam everyone is miserable in high school okay?!?!?! Anyway. Here comes freshman year at Dipshit State. Little Johnny trades in his wire-frames for some Buddy Holly’s, his cargo pants for fitted corduroys, starts gabbing about Catcher in the Rye like it’s his job (he doesn’t have a job), and the pussy rains down like FLOOD SEASON IN MISSISSIPPI. The thing is, Johnny Fuckin Wonderbread is just as much of a douche bag as he was in nerd state now in hipster state. And he realizes none of that. Instead of being mean to girls by deriding their flaws to his fellow bitter v-card boastin’ geeks, he is mean to them by not valuing the sex gift they give him and instead treating them like shiny tin medals on his jacket o’ jerkdom, notches on the bed post, you know the drill.
|SMUGGY MCGEE REPORTING FOR DUTY.|
Note that this behavior is common in both genders, mkaaay. Little Sarah Squeezlepants is definitely up to the same shit when she realizes she was mistaken in her horrible high school self-esteem, and looks damn good in a vinyl mini skirt or whatever the fuck. Let’s also add that her high school boyfriend was a dickhead to her, just for that extra nudge into assholery. She is just as cruel to the guys that follow her around now, and treats them like lil sad puppy dogs, magnetized against their will to her PILLAR OF SEXXXXY.
|She'll blow you if you take her shopping. JK LOL.|
What these dumbfucks are not realizing is that PHYSICAL ATTRACTIVENESS DOES NOT MAKE YOU WORTHIER AS A PERSON. You are who you are with or without it. If you are a morally defunct shitbag deep down, you will be that way whether people are lavishing sexual attention on you or not. It doesn’t make you better. It is the laziest way to try to love yourself. If I can’t love me, I’ll use other people to love me for me! Naw naw naw. Maybe if Johnny Punderhead pushed his bitterness aside and realized he is a smart funny guy, he would be way happier than he is relying the girls (or guys) he dupes into thinking he is cool. This is just the worst trap to fall into and it is incredibly irritating to observe. It takes a lot of work to love yourself, you must undo all the negative messages you have absorbed in your short life (millions and billions), but god dammit just get it done or you will fuck around forever.
I was mad nerdy in high school and went on three awkward dates total, definitely keepin that v-card secured tightly in my wallet o’ LONELINESS. I spent hours contrasting the fuck out of pictures of my face in Photoshop trying to determine if I was pretty or not. By now I have learned to not give a fuck. I was pretty surprised in college when at the very end of freshman year I found the correct subculture (radio station art kids/HIPSTERMANIA) and began gettin some male attention. I responded by drunkenly spooning but refusing to have sex but also trying to get them to fall in love with me. When this failed I got all sad and my dad was like calm down you are twenty. Tru dat pops, tru dat. The lesson I am intending to pass on is hey man, hey man. COLLEGE STUDENTS ARE FUCKING DICKS AND NO ONE CARES IF YOU ARE THE HOTTIE OR THE NOTTIE. Oh my god, it is so painful to watch one’s previously sweet and sensitive friend eyefuck themselves in the mirror. Ah mah gah I am sewww hawt NO ONE CARES BLARGH.
College life is fucking disgusting. That is all there is to it. Never again in your life, unless you plan on inhabiting a crack den, will you live in such a decrepit state of squalor. Even if you are neat or your roommate is neat, someone’s bound to fuck it up. Moms everywhere expend barrels of energy attempting to get their kids to CLEAN UP AFTER THEMSELVES, and their kids respond with slothful confusion. Oh Mom you’re so funny. Then they go to college and rejoice over no-moms, until they are smothered to death by their own refuse.
|Yes. It is all true.|
I openly admit that I engaged in such remiss behavior. I let the snack debris pile up like a leaning tower of SHAME. My room devolved into a cave of dirty fabrics. I wore ripped tights with a ripped shirt and cut-off high waisted denim shorts and oh wait also ripped Keds. I stank always of cannabis. And I relished this refusal to adhere to the expectations of the first world population. Some sort of neo-hippie nonsense. I realize pretty much every clothing item I purchased from a thrift store during this pitiful period of time did not fit me. Wait no- I think I had some 90’s little boys’ sweaters that sort of fit. Oh yeah.
My mom was lost in a tide of panic each time she had the misfortune of viewing my living quarters. I could see her mind racing, what to clean first? She bought me at least a hundred “survival” cook books during this time that I never cracked open, choosing instead to feast on mozzarella cheese “planks” and other greasy appetizers for dinner-times. Truly a lifestyle of luxury.
All of my friends were the same way- always on the verge of suffocation under our own MESS. I had one super tidy friend, male but with an intriguing streak of persnicketiness. He decorated his apartment with seashell boxes and those weird squiggly twigs from IKEA. All the rest were hipster lazypantses. Oh man I couldn’t find my rainbow elephant-shaped pipe under all my Fugazi records NOOOO. One of my friends literally did an art project on making friends with the steady stream of ants in his apartment. It was fucking genius.
I almost forgot to mention the disgustingness that accompanies alcoholism, which runs rampant in universities that are not BYU, as everyone knows. Drunk people are incredibly gross. They do not care if the products of their bodily functions end up all over you or your stuff. My friend once asked a man peeing on her welcome mat, “What are you doing?” and he responded by calling her a bitch. Chivalry lives on. This sort of behavior is considered normal, even expected, within the college sphere. Being a hard partier is like some perverse badge of honor, and students often try to one-up one another because whoever binge-drinks more wins. What do they win? Perhaps a golden beer bong encrusted with rare gems so that they may continue to drink but now with added bling. Outside of the college sphere, one’s alcoholism is rewarded with eviction, homelessness, and general societal disapproval.
|WHY GOD WHY AM I ONLY A SILHOUETTE.|
The only good thing about college grossery is that once you emerge from your den of SIN and dust bunny monsters, it is like coming up for fresh air after being stuffed into a trash can for several days. (Hollywood would lead me to believe this is a common occurrence in high school.) I have recently left my college apartment, and I am drowning in relief. My boyfriend and I have officially barred Grime and Mess from our spankin’ new abode in Koreatown, choosing instead to act like human beings by taking the trash out regularly and wiping the counters when they are dirty. “That sounds terrible,” you may say, College Baby, but someday you will understand.
Every American college student is privileged as fuck. BUT I DIDN’T GET INTO MY FIRST CHOICE IVY LEAGUE! Shut UP, you are in a first world country receiving an expensive-as-fuck education, that is called being privileged. That doesn’t mean you or your family didn’t bust ass to get you there. But shit definitely qualifies as a gift most souls only dream of.
The problem lies with those who do not realize their privilege. I’m sure some kids soak their pillows with tears of gratitude every night, thank god I never have to go back to the asbestos factory again. But most are probably shamelessly tweeting a string of white-whines. “GUESS I’LL BE ALONE FOREVZ JOHNNY DIDN’T EMAIL ME BACK.” “CAN’T AFFORD TO GO TO 300 DOLLAR CONCERT BOO HOO I M POOR.” During Coachella times, the pleas for pity hail down like tiny chunks of WAHHH from privilege-heaven. It is enough to make you want to transmit some sort of super-irritating yet non-lethal disease over social media platforms, like scabies or crabs.
|It wants a hug!|
Yes, it is enough to turn me into a horrible grumpy bitch. For example, the other day I boarded a local bus in order to traverse to the nearest art store for some crayons or whatever. The bus is usually relatively silent, as everyone is tired and grumpy because they are on the bus. But on this particular day a raucous wave of noise assaulted my ears. WHAT THE FUCK COULD THAT BE, I thought, suspecting a hobo-fight. No, it was a bunch of Enthused Freshmen, shouting to one another at the top of their lungs. I’m sure they were en route to the Santa Monica Pier or some tourist bullshit, and were spinning at the thought of seeing one another in BATHING SUITS. I gave the woman next to me a “IS THIS REALLY HAPPENING?” look, and she said “yes, yes it is mija,” with her sad eyes. I was overcome with indignation. Poor motherfuckers just want to ride the bus to their thankless job in PEACE. They don’t need a bunch of dimwits with spiked hair jizzing all over each other. So I yelled “SHUT. UP!” The bus was silent for a moment as they recoiled in shame, but some dummy sang out “Blehhhh!” in defiance of my command, and picked up where they left off. “ZOMGZ COLLEGE ZOMGZ BOOBIES.”
I am basically a gramma, not even the nice kind, but I just can’t stand it when fuckers rub their privilege in the face of the not-so-privileged. That is the main activity of college students when they emerge from the safety of their campus into the real world. HA HA LOOK AT ME NOT A CARE IN THE WORLD BESIDES WORLD POLITICS 202. Look at the AWESOME UNIVERSITY SWEATSHIRT my parents bought me. Isn’t it nice. Where did you go to school? OH WAIT YOU’RE POOR SO YOU DIDN’T HA HA.
|HAHA FUCK YOU.|
Universities are like enormous god-forsaken bubbles. Yes, the Supreme Deity has abandoned these twits due to their insufferable nature, and has left them with the ultimate biblical plagues, studying and non-brand coffee. Instead of manna, the students subsist solely on shared complaints of “why must I read things” and only the most educated of guffaws HAW HAW TERM PAPERS HAW HAW. Outside the bubble is a strange and terrible world of actual problems and responsibility, which many students regard as a myth concocted by grad students to frighten them into finishing their reading JUST FINISH IT. Nothing is better than overhearing sorority girls relay horrific tales of the World Outside the Bubble, in which they took a wrong exit and ended up in the movie Training Day. In reality a hobo approached their car and the window-closing button in their dad’s Jetta jammed for half a second. Mmmmm yes tell me more of your wild adventures in Not-College, it is surely a miracle you survived with all your limbs and hair extensions still attached.
The most common and repugnant bi-product of privilege is our NUMBER ONE REASON WHY COLLEGE KIDS SUCK....
So. Fucking. Smug. The only living being more smug than a college student is one of those 9 year old dweebs wearing a tweed jacket on Jeopardy’s dreaded “Kid’s Week” who has just sang out “WHAT IS THE MAGNA CARTA” to stirring applause just kidding no one cares.
There is so much smug, I will have to break it down into categories to make it palatable. The first wave of smug sweeps over the freshman class after the haze of Enthusiasm has been extinguished by reality and actual course work. The expectation of work is bewildering to the young shitheads-- don’t they know if I study tonight I can’t play Magic the Gathering in the hallway with New Nerd Gang and my social life will die?! Callous knaves. Once they emerge from the Pit of Despair and confront said work, they see a glimmering light in the horizon, just beyond the clouds of Alcoholism and the valley of Freshman Fifteen-shall-we-say-thirty. It is the light of BIG WORDS and KNOWLEDGE. Freshmen derplings realize they can utilize this pestersome work shit to climb the Ladder o’ Assholery by shoving their superior knowledge into everyone’s face whenever possible.
|Yes. THAT guy.|
“MMM YES DESCARTES DID DEBATE THAT POINT IN HIS BLRUBLGHSNICKERSNUMZ,” is how it goes. Yes, if you have the opportunity to overhear such a conversation, your brain will cut out halfway through their first Pulitzer-winning thought because dear Lord you don’t give a shit. If you want to feed the Smugling, perhaps to see if its ego can swell to the point of bursting, appear clueless and stammer a bastardization of one of the choice terms they have flung into the air, “Day Kurtz, is that a band?!” The Smuglings will share a cold laugh, their sense of self-importance expanding to dangerous proportions. Push them far enough, and they may be vaporized by their own aura of impenetrable satisfaction. Motherfucker doesn’t even know about Descartes. You probably made their lives. Resist the urge to immediately burrow underground and start a new race of humble mole-people.
In order to prick the ego bubble and shatter the Smugling’s illusions, dress up like a tacky tourist, preferably replete with a fanny pack and elastic waistband Hawaiian shorts, and stake out a couple douchenozzles. When their conversation in the coffee line reaches peak levels of self-assurance, drop a bomb on those fucks. “Actually, Bergman’s cinematographer for his early noir-esque films was Goran Strindberg, not Iversen. He only started working with Iversen after To Joy.” You will be met with an especially chilly brand of secret rage that will render your victims immobile for several months. During this time you may have the pleasure of borrowing their iPhones to send a lengthy string of Anchorman quotes to their professors and benefactors.
|NO I WON'T GO TO A PARTY IN YOUR PANTS!|
If you have no insider knowledge on whatever subject they are undoubtedly ripping to shreds with mistaken confidence, make some shit up because they don’t fucking know either. “Ah yes I believe that theory was inspired by a childhood friend’s comment on the rotation of psyches. I read it in a journal I happened to unearth outside his home in Napoli. Fascinating, right?!” Simply raise the stakes of esotericism and watch them drown like rats in the tepid cesspool they call a brain. Maintaining optimum levels of Midwestern cheeriness and good nature will only sweeten the victory.
Yes, these kids think they know everything because they skimmed their Post-Modern Art reading packets while running from Save Everything Club to Intramural Whiffleball. Smuggery only worsens as the semesters sweep by and more scraps of knowledge are attained. The discovery of Causes is yet another nail in the coffin. “Have you heard about the Invisible Children? Don’t you care?!” What the fuck are you talking about!? “Yeah, we’re hiking to the edge of the known universe to raise money for disfigured orphans in the Ukraine, if you don’t want to come that’s cool, you heartless piece of shit ORPHANS!” True life story, they only joined that fucking club to make friends and find a hapless mate. I watched it happen a thousand times. If only the Invisible Children knew their existence serves as a dating service for co-eds, I’m sure their pain would be lessened. But they are making a difference for those vets in Kyrgyzstan. Probably not. I passed out needles in West Hollywood for my AIDS class and there is no doubt I made no difference whatsoever. Had I not been there, someone else would have passed out the baggies. You only need one fucking person for that shit. Stop stroking your own dicks, college meatheads. A huge part of “making a difference” and “being a good person” is never bragging about it ever. Because if you need to see your “difference” reflected off an unsuspecting listening ear, you’re doing it all for yourself, and thus you are a shithead.
|I'm so vapid, it hurts.|
So we have Knowledge Smuggery and Cause Smuggery, another ripe example is Experience Smuggery. This section comes into play when the college bonehead ventures home and lords their illustrious university-attending self over any and all people they know that are still in high school or never went to college. Every anecdote in the presence of an adult will begin with, “So I was talking with my film professor...” In the presence of minors, “So I was doing body shots off my Sociology TA at One-Eyed Billy’s...” The naive will listen with rapt attention and sparkling innocent eyes, while assholes like me will begin a journey into the hyperspace of the mind and begin wondering if I should construct yet another bridge-to-nowhere in Minecraft or instead build a chicken farm.
Of course I was once a pure-minded youngling easily impressed by anyone older than myself. When my sister went to college I thought it was the fucking coolest. I went to her lodgings once, a house o’ bratty bitches, and died of amazement at all the “cool” film and reggae posters. In retrospect, that place was a shithole and all my sister’s friends were petty-minded cunts that picked on her for having an attentive boyfriend, and I’m glad she made it out of there alive. I remember hearing they had a bat infestation and cannot fathom how that did not sully my vision of their paradise. In high school, my friends’ older siblings and such would bring back tales of beer pong and underground music. By then I could perceive the smug factor and refused to be impressed. My friend who went to UCR relayed his first sexual experience to me, in which he orally serviced a lesbian for several hours with no compensation of any kind, and needless to say this did not paint a pretty picture of college life in my mind.
|LOOKS DOPE WHEN CAN I COME?!|
I have been on the other side of the experience fence as well. I have seen younglings look at me, dazzled by my existence as an older person, and it amuses me while also freaking me out. I just want to pet them and say “Don’t worry, you’ll be cool too, it’s not that hard.”
But Shaggsie, my readers may cry, haven’t you too fallen victim to the disease of Smug?! You took three Scandinavian film classes I saw your transcripts!
That is disturbing, I respond, but yes, all true, I have the makings of an especially abhorrent Smugling. The key to my evasion of this terrible affliction is bitterness. Just stay super mad and indignant towards everyone and everything and you won’t be able to manage that Smug. It will slide right off you like water off of an oily duck. Also, I am too socially sensitive and anxious to relay long boring stories to people who don’t give a shit. To rail on about the fourth wave of feminism to my Republican uncle would only bring forth rage and misunderstanding on all sides, a true social crime. Neither would I share the misadventures of my partying days, because that shit is embarrassing, and everyone has the same fucking stories. Ooooo I peed somewhere weird and threw up oooooo. Oooo I had sex with ten strangers in one night. Don’t tell people that shit, what the fuck?! Laugh about it occasionally with friends that were there, and that’s as far as you go. Because you must never forget: no one cares.
|Nope. Not caring. Not even a little.|
Those namby-pamby youths who attend accredited universities are universally loathed for the reasons I have stated, not to mention they are young and often in shape, which are very detestable qualities. If you don’t believe me, just look at every horror movie ever. College kids prancing off to their rich uncle’s cabin only to be sliced and diced by anything from mutant hillbillies to vengeful oddly-named demons. They showcase their lesser qualities through cringe-worthy dialogue and gratuitous fornication, and the viewer is rewarded for sitting through that shit by seeing these ninnies get torn apart by a sexually impotent maniac. Horror is an industry built on everyone’s inherent hatred of college kids. I rest my case.
|You asked for it, world!|
If you wish to college and you want to escape the Smug, just keep a tight grip on your self-awareness, or you will go down down down the rabbit hole and wind up sitting on city benches smoking American Spirits and muttering snatches of your education, “Faust... New York... cocaine... Faust... neo-revivalist-renaissance...” to no one in particular.
If you’re going to take something from your higher education, master critical thinking and then wield it like a Viking sledgehammer against every scenario, institution or experience that comes your way and beat that shit to death. Possibly in blog form. OOPS I AM THE PROFESSOR BEHIND THE CURTAIN GO AWAY TOTO. Anyway, no one will care, but at least you’ll keep up the illusion of productivity. And if you see Smuglings drifting around a local bar talking about French New Wave, make up some Frenchy-sounding names and hand their asses to them.
PEACE OUT, MY SMURGVEEZLES, STAY FRESH.